


Thunder and Pike

by RipVanWinkle



Series: Thunder and Pike [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Awkward Flirting, BAMF Keith, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Barbarian Keith, First Meetings, M/M, Magic and Mana Universe, rogue lance, shy keith, thunderpike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipVanWinkle/pseuds/RipVanWinkle
Summary: In which Lance tries to flirt his way out of being caught stealing red handed and it goes about as well as you'd expect.





	Thunder and Pike

With all the grizzly stories about them running rampant, Lance never would’ve guessed that barbarians could be this handsome. It’s a little precarious to focus on that right now, though, considering the dire situation the rogue street cat’s gotten himself into.

Most sensible folk run at even _word_ of barbarians, more or less one in the actual _flesh,_ but Lance somehow got it in his head the grand idea to covet the gorgeous obsidian Dao blade on the barbarian’s hip. And when Lance wants something, Lance gets it. He’s a rogue, after all, sticky fingers are in his nature- and there is _no one_ better at the subtle art of thievery than Lance “Pike” McClain! So if any one rogue could successfully steal from a barbarian, of all classes, then it’d just have to be him.

Thinking back on it, Lance might’ve let his ego get to his head and blind him to the fact that at some point in his elegant stalking of his prey, the tables might’ve been turned on him.

Lance has an amazing ability, the only one of its kind and strong from generations of being cultivated and passed down through the McClain lineage. It allows him to teleport reasonable distances, to appear behind locked doors, to materialize beyond bolted gates to noble manors. It also has its unfortunate setbacks, as Lance has yet to truly unlock the full potential of his ability. He must concentrate his power into an object (in his case, he chose these little smoke bombs that would hopefully distract his enemies long enough to give him a good head start) and break it in order to properly disperse his power so that it doesn’t rip his body in two. He can also only teleport so often, there is a set limit. It fluctuates, really.

As such, it’s in his best interest to avoid engaging in a fight with someone who might be faster than him, who might be able to cross the distance he teleported in an instant. To avoid someone like this barbarian here.

To be fair, the barbarian really wasn’t all that scary at first (emphasis on “at first”). His body is mostly covered in dark furs and a well worn piece of armor here and there. Barbarians tend to cover themselves head to toe in armor, so at first Lance was unsure if he was really what he thought he was. But one glimpse of those heavy set brows and mane of unruly black hair, and Lance knew. Barbarians all look alike, really, and their ebony hair and sharp facial features differentiate them from the rest of the population.

As a rogue Coimoc (a shifty people known for their feline appearances and nomadic ways), Lance, too, is ostracized by human and dwarf dominated areas, although his people are not nearly as feared as barbarians. They are more... _groaned_ about than anything else. No one wants a Coimoc around, they’re only good for two things: theft and disloyalty. Lance would argue that isn’t true, he _is_ loyal to someone and that someone just so happens to be himself, but he doesn’t have the time or energy to fight against prejudice. It isn’t as if he’s denied service or oppressed anywhere, like barbarians and some races of elves are, he just has an attached stigma.

Lance doesn’t like to believe rumors. Surely not all barbarians are alike? Surely not _all_ pillage, rape, and murder those they come across? It is the thought of his own stereotype and the way the barbarian travels silently and cautiously, almost as if he were conscious of the homes of the animals in the bushes and trees, through the Trisea Thicket that pushes Lance to follow through with his target.

As Lance materializes from tree branch to tree branch, keeping multiple paces behind and above wind, the barbarian continues to prowl through the underbrush, seemingly oblivious to Lance’s nefarious intent. To steal the weapon of a barbarian...no one would be able to ignore his prowess as a thief then. Perhaps he could gift it to Allura, the pretty elven girl who keeps trying to get him to join her party whenever they come across each other in their travels.

 _Sorry, baby,_ he always tells her, _but Pike doesn’t do commitment. Find another dumb rogue._

It makes Hunk sad, his childhood best friend who teamed up with her awhile back, and while that tears at Lance’s heart and keeps him up at night, Lance just really can’t see himself joining arms with someone like that. Becoming part of a party is a _big deal,_ even more important than getting married or something (not true), and Lance can’t be tied down in the prime of his life! He’d have to share all this wealth! He’ll gift her the blade, sure, but only to see if she’ll take him up on his offer for drinks and a night out on the town.

_“I can’t fornicate with a thief, Pike.”_

Ouch. Lance’s feelings are genuine, and maybe this can show her. He’ll just make up a story about how he bested the barbarian in honorable combat or something, and spare her all the gory details about how he teleported in and grabbed it.

 _Like a coward-_ like a good thief! Lance grits his little fangs and frowns heavily. Allura and Shiro’s holier-than-thou attitudes are getting to him, he seriously needs to stop hanging out with them. He slinks along a hefty branch, one foot directly in front of the other and steps quiet as the soft breeze. His tail twitches and glides behind him while working to keep him balanced upright, and his ears flick at the slightest noises from the leaves around him.

The barbarian is none the wiser to Lance’s track and the thought makes him grin something crudely vicious. His eyes flicker ahead, noting a dip in the earth that would be hard to see from his target’s vantage point on the ground. Perfect! Just wait until the right moment, pop in, startle the barbarian into tripping over the change in elevation, and take the sword while he’s busy flailing! Genius! Lance teleports to a closer tree, now only two paces behind and in range to appear in a split second down below. He needs to make sure he stays close enough to teleport in but far enough as to not draw suspicion...but he’s good at what he does. There’s no way the barbarian has noticed him.

Lance darts behind the hidden safety of leaves and bark as the barbarian suddenly pauses in his treck. His target is looking to the left, strong features pulled into a curious expression. He seems to be analyzing a nearby bush of bright green berries, probably wondering if they’re edible or not. Lance is no good with foraging but he hopes they aren’t poisonous. He wants to steal from the barbarian, sure, but stealing is a bit different from watching someone die. Lance takes advantage of the abrupt stop to further investigate the barbarian.

As Lance thought before, he sure is handsome. While most barbarians are huge lumbering things with more meat than brain, this one’s lean. Lithe, even, with a tapered waist regardless of the attractive broadness of his shoulders. Now that Lance is closer, he can notice a few smaller things. Like how there’s a cute braid in his dark hair, and that the large burn scar across his left cheek is rather dashing. Honestly, the man’s a solid ten in Lance’s mind, and completely the type he usually goes for. Too bad he’s a barbarian and they’re hardly known for their _romance._ A real shame, this one’s a hottie.

The barbarian moves towards the berries to further inspect them, reaching out to touch their leaves and count their spikes. He must be knowledgeable of these things then. Lance wonders if he’s, well, _intelligent._ Most of the stories Lance has heard paint barbarians as brainless death machines. Maybe this one’s different…? Lance notices that the barbarian wears thin gauntlets on his hands, made of a scratched black metal that extends an inch past his fingertips and sharpens into claws. He likes them.

“Kosmo.”

Lance almost gasps out loud at the sound of the barbarian’s voice. He snaps out of his daydream to see that his target has turned away from the berries and is _staring directly into Lance’s tree._ Lance, heart sickly plummeting to the depths of his body, clutches his bow, prepared to quickly draw it if need be, while his other hand reaches into his pouch for another smoke ball.

There’s a _snap!_ and a _pop!_ and the smell of ozone behind him and all of the sudden the branch feels quite crowded. Lance hisses instinctively, hair raising on the back of his neck as he recognizes the heady stench of _dog._ He whips around to come face to face-er, muzzle?- with probably the _largest_ canine beast he has ever seen. He can’t help his mouth this time- a startled yelp rips from his panicked chest as the thing snarls mightily only inches away, its bright eyes the same color as the skyline and promising a painful death.

Now would probably be a bad time to notice that the beast is just as beautiful as its master. Lance doesn’t think he’s ever seen a wolf sporting these intense shades of blue and black before. A wolf is still a _dog_ to him, however, and Lance _hates_ dogs. For good reason!

Without a second thought, Lance breaks the smoke ball in his own hand, burning his fingers in the process, and teleports to another nearby branch. His fingertips sting hotly as he arrives in a blink at the next tree but he has to ignore them as the wolf _teleports right on top of him._

Lance actually _screams_ this time, falling painfully on his ass on the branch as three hundred pound of pure menace suddenly collapses on top of his body. His back is thrusted into the bark of the tree trunk and his head slams along with it, jaring his thoughts and shooting pain down his spine. He grunts and the sound dissolves into a warning yowl, even with the terror that freezes his insides.

“Kosmo!” Comes the barbarian’s rough voice once more, and the beast’s left ear twitches at it. It watches Lance a moment longer, its humongous paws an anchor on his chest, before another _pop!_ hits Lance’s ears. The world blurs just as it does when Lance himself teleports, only more disorienting because Lance did not in _any way_ want to do this, and the rogue finds himself sprawled out on the forest floor with a wolf on his chest and a man glaring down at him.

The breath leaves him in a punch of air and Lance automatically tucks his head into his neck to keep the beast from tearing it out, attempting to bring his arms up to fight it off.

“If you do that he’ll kill you.” Warns the barbarian, his eyes a mirage of violet flames. He bends a little at the waist to get a better look at Lance, his face made ugly by a tenacious scowl, “Who are you?! Why have you been following us?!”

Lance lowers his arms quickly at the other’s words, fear and panic making his body tremble and his ears press into his head, “I-uh-I-” He wheezes, the beast’s weight crushing what little air he can get from his lungs.

The barbarian growls lowly, “Kosmo, back off.” At once the wolf leaps off of Lance, instead moving to the side where it snarls and bares its terrifying fangs in his face as a constant reminder of death.

Scrambling to set his palms to the floor and lift his torso up, Lance flinches at the sight of the dark obsidian blade he so lusted for only centimeters from the tip of his nose. His left eye throbs in recognition of the danger he faces. It had been a knife not unlike the one this barbarian wields that had almost gouged it out all those years ago, leaving the nasty scar to prove it. He has no interest in completing the job this time around. His irises flash upwards, fearing the brute anger present in the barbarian’s, and his mind blanks.

“Well?! Are you a spy?” The man sniffs the air obnoxiously, teeth still barred just as fiercely as his pet beast, “You don’t smell Galra.”

 _Galra…?_ Lance has no idea what this ‘Galra’ is and is in no way eager to find out, if they draw such a violent reaction from a warrior. He tries for words, his usual silver tongue reduced to nothing more than a child’s clumsy phonics, “I-I-uhm, well, I was-”

Being this close makes it easier for Lance to trace the intricate patterning of the weapon that is sure to be his downfall. It’s not a straight blade, and sharpened to deadly precision on either side, well maintained and obviously cared for by the way it shines so brilliantly in the sunlight filtering through the treeline. _It’s pretty…._ Lance looks back up into the owner’s rugged face, taking note of how his scar looks kind of like Lance’s own natural born markings. His thick black hair has a lovely sheen to it, his nose strong but cute, and Lance thinks,   _He’s...pretty…._ It’s an irrational thought but it’s enough to spring him into action.

If there’s two thing Lance knows he’s good at, it’s talking his way out of shitty situations and _flirting_. So, with a deep gulp and pale clammy skin, Lance squeezes his eyes shut and delivers what he hopes to be the best pick-up line of the century.

“If-If I were a cat, I would spend all nine lives with you!”

There’s silence for a terrifying moment. Even the wolf has ceased its incessant growling. It stretches on long enough that Lance is forced to peek, wondering why he hasn’t been beheaded yet. He opens one eye and then the other, his teeth sinking nervously into his bottom lip as he looks up at the barbarian again.

The man is staring at him with an expression of incredulous disbelief and apparent confusion, both emotions tugging his features into opposite directions. His blade even lowers a bit in his shock, “W...what?”

Lance jumps on the cue to speak, throwing another line out before that knife can skewer him, “Are you religious? Because you’re the answer to all my prayers!”

Obviously surprised that Lance would be so stupid as to throw this line out, the man’s brows scrunch further in confusion. It’s quite the adorable look on him, really. “You- you _are_ a cat, there are no ‘if’s about it!” He gestures with the tip of his sword towards the twitching ears on top of Lance’s head.

Lance flinches at the movement of the weapon but holds strong, “Uh, do you have a map?”

The man cocks his head, “Are you lost?”

“L-lost in your _eyes._ ”

The man continues to glare in utter bemusement but at least he’s lowering his weapon. The wolf sniffs at Lance curiously, sensing that its master might not wish to gut him just yet, and the rogue shies away from the seeking wet nose. He glances back up at the barbarian and shakily says another one, “How was Heaven when you left it? I didn’t know angels could fly so low.”

Somethings seems to click behind those dark violet eyes and the man stands up properly to take a step back, his blade lowering away from Lance’s neck but still at the ready, “Oh! You’re _flirting_ with me!” He says almost too loudly, his tone practically an accusation.

Lance attempts to sit up further but the wolf remains a softly snarling warning beside him, so he tries to keep as still as possible, “Uh-yeah, I am, I guess, that’s what I’m doing, yup, flirting.” _Oh maker, why did you do this, what the fuck is wrong with you-_

“Why?”

“Uhm, what?”

“Why are you flirting with me?”

Lance’s fingers dig into the soft dirt beneath him, the soil getting under his fingernails and sticking to his sweaty palms. His tail is crushed uncomfortably beneath his rear but he dares not move it, a very vivid image of the wolf tearing it off with its massive jaws a real worry in his mind. He thinks the question is stupid, if he’s being honest. What is the _one_ reason he would flirt with him? He swallows back his sass, knowing it’d get him only a sword in his throat, and answers, “Be-because your, your, good looking…?”

The man narrows his eyes at him. Fuck, wrong move. Lance quickly elaborates, “Also, I uh, saw you, you were walking carefully in the forest, and you made sure not to step on flowers- I, uh, I really liked that! And your armor is cool!”

Silence. Again. _You’re going to die, Lance, this barbarian is going to do maker knows what to you and no one is ever going to find your corpse and you’ll never go on that date with Allura-_ “No one’s...no one’s ever said anything like that to me before.” Comes the response of the barbarian, his voice made soft by the pleasant awe warming it from within. “You...really followed me just to tell me this…?”

 _No no no, that is very much not it, even though I did find you exceedingly attractive and still do, yikes! Are you seriously BLUSHING?!_ “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have followed you!” Lance says, bowing his head in apology while still making eye contact. Yup, the other’s cheeks are flaming a brilliant red, probably even worse than Lance’s. Is this really happening right now?!

The barbarian shakes his head, moving into a crouch in front of Lance. He sheathed his sword and the breath steadily returns to Lance. The wolf even backs off, moving behind the man to glare intimidatingly at the rogue. “No, no, it’s uh, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have...fuck, I always do this. I thought you were an assassin sent by the Galra.” He looks Lance up and down in a slow motion but Lance finds nothing less than innocent about the action. A small quirk pulls at the side of the man’s lips, “I can tell that isn’t the case.”

Lance slowly raises up, his tail escaping from underneath him to press into his back comfortingly. He draws his knees to his chest and swallows shallowly, “I-I don’t know what a Galra is.”

“That much is obvious. A Galra warrior wouldn’t have been caught as easily as you were.”

Cheeks now flaring in indignance rather than embarrassment, Lance scowls at the man, “Excuse you, but I am an excellent rogue!”

“But I caught you.”

“Only because I let you!”

The man raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t respond to Lance’s claims. He sighs, “Look, I’m sorry we freaked you out. We’ve been chased out of every town and settlement from here to Daibazaal Ruins. We’re a little on edge.”

Lance fidgets, “Be-because you’re-”

“A barbarian?” Scoffs the man, a humorless laugh following, “Yeah.” His gaze darkens into something battle worn and furious, an expression that does little to conceal the astute warrior aptitude this man is sure to possess. “Why?” A pair of dangerous fangs flash between his words, “You regretting this now that you’re sure I’m a _filthy_ barbarian?” He spits.

Lance’s heart does that awful plummet again, his skin chilling to ice as the blood drains from his face. There’s only one thing he can say, “No!” He yelps, desperately, “No, I-I don’t! I never believed those stories anyways!”

“Oh?” The man looks genuinely surprised, the brick and mortar in his face disappearing as quickly as it came. “So...you _knew_ I was a barbarian when you started following me?” That delicate astonishment is back to color his voice. He leans forward slightly and braces his hands on his thighs, Kosmo following suit and also getting more into Lance’s space. They both scan Lance up and down almost in sync- it would be pretty impressive if Lance wasn’t terrified out of his damn mind.

This man and his damn dog are going to give Lance grey hairs if they don’t kill him with a heart attack first. Lance nods in a jerky motion, more so just going along with this than actually taking part in the conversation. He glances around for an escape route in a quick, unassuming motion while knowing damn well that even if he managed to teleport before the barbarian grabbed him, his wolf would be upon him in a blink of an eye. Attempting an escape now would only lead to death. He has to wait.

_He hasn’t killed you yet...maybe he really isn’t like the barbarians in the stories…._

“Woah. Uh, that’s-uh,” The man coughs into his fist, his face once again going red hot in an emotion that Lance cannot put his finger on, “that’s really brave.”

 _His blush is...kinda cute._ Lance wants to slap himself when the thought comes to him. Not now, you big flirt! This man can never find out he was never really interested in _pursuing_ him but only ever wanted that gorgeous blade on his hip. Maker knows what he’d do to the feline rogue then…. “Uh, thank you…?”

They fall into silence again as the barbarian just...stares at him. Intensely. It’s enough to make Lance squirm and his fingers dig into the meat of his own thighs, his tail curls around his waist in nervousness, and his little fangs resume nibbling at his bottom lip. He quickly breaks the silence, unable to handle being at the forefront of someone’s attention this blatantly, “My name’s Pike!” He blurts, “Uh- what’s your’s?”

The barbarian doesn’t answer him for a moment and Lance is scared he ticked him off again. The other doesn’t look angry, though, but instead puzzled, like he is trying to solve some difficult alchemical formula. His voice is strained with uncertainty when he answers, “Thunder...storm….Darkness….” he lets that sit in the air between them for a moment before he nods and more confidently states, “That’s my name.”

Lance can’t take it. The tense atmosphere, the feared warrior, the _stupid and obviously fake_ name. He bursts into peels of manic laughter.

“What?” The barbarian barks in offense, “Why are you laughing?!”

Shaking his head, Lance tries to speak through his giggles, “Y-you just- _haha!_ \- said it so - _hahaha!_ \- SERIOUSLY!” He dissolves into more chuckles, the terror and nervousness pushing him to laugh probably a bit longer than strictly necessary, “That can’t be your real name!”

“It is!” The barbarian says far too quickly for there to be any truth behind it.

“There’s no way your parents thought _‘hey honey, wouldn’t a great name be Thunderstorm?’_ ”

The barbarian grumbles and scowls heatedly at Lance, “Well _Pike_ doesn’t sound much better! What kind of nickname is that?”

“Better than _Thunderstorm Darkness,_ is what it is!”

“So you admit that it isn’t your real name?”

Lance sobers, feeling less intimidated because of their light banter but still on guard. Regardless, he still smiles something big and friendly, “It’s just what I go by.”

“Fine,” the other looks away and mutters, “I’ll respect your dumb name if you respect mine.”

This draws another short laugh from the rogue as he nods in agreement, “Sure thing, _Thunderstorm Darkness._ That’s a mouthful, I’m just going to call you Thunder for short.”

Thunder looks shyly back at him, the tips of his pointy ears red and his voice almost small, “No one’s ever given me a nickname before.”

 _How can someone so terrifying be so adorable?_ Lance swallows again, his mouth going dry, and he rolls forward onto the balls of his feet. He makes eye contact with Thunder as he slowly rises, conveying without words that he means no harm. Thunder allows it, standing gracefully alongside him regardless of the heaviness of his armor plates. Kosmo moves to Thunder’s side, keeping its startling intelligent gaze locked onto Lance. Without conversation the tight suffocating air returns to drive Lance up the wall with anxiety. Thunder really likes to just _stare_ , doesn’t he?

“Well until you fess up your real name, it’s what I’m going to have to call you.” Lance ends his awkward jest with a forced chuckle. Out of habit he gives Thunder’s body a once over. The barbarian is almost his height, perhaps an inch or two shorter, but is far stockier. His shoulders are impressively broad and, even with their girth, do not make his body look disproportionate. The armor he wears consists of thick metal slats conformed to the curves of his body and dark animal hide to keep him warm. All in all, his outfit really isn’t anything memorable but it fits his form perfectly. The sword on his hip is not his only weapon, Lance can see multiple smaller knives and daggers tucked away along his wrists and thighs, and there’s another longer blade attached to his back.

This...really is a barbarian. A seasoned warrior hardened by first hand experience Lance could never hope to have. Not that he ever would. He’s a more _get in, get out_ type of guy- close combat really isn’t his forte. Anyone with eyes could tell you that by the way he’s dressed. Light, airy clothes as to not weigh him down, soft soled shoes that won’t make a sound when he creeps along noble homes in the dead of night. A simple bow and quiver at his back, and two daggers hidden in his sleeves as a last resort. The thick shawl he wears around his neck can be pulled up to quickly cover his face and ears, has been bewitched to change colors at a thought to throw guards and mercenaries off his trail. His outfit _screams_ rogue thief.

“Until I…?” Mutters Thunder questioningly before he trails off, shutting his mouth quickly and frowning something fierce.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit, did Lance say something wrong?! Lance opens his mouth to quickly fix whatever it is that he did, to prolong his existence a bit longer, but finds no need for it as Thunder cuts him off.

“You mean, you’re interested in... knowing me for longer?” Asks the barbarian, and Lance almost outwardly flinches at the hopeful expression on his face.

 _What have I gotten myself into? You just HAD to flirt, didn’t you?!_ Lance tries for a smile but it’s more a painful looking grimace than anything else, “Uh- y...es….?”

And if that wasn’t just the magic word. Thunder’s face brightens so much that it morphs from the frightening warrior’s visage to a young lad on his birthday morning. His violet eyes shine with a sort of astounded gratefulness, like Lance just saved his fucking life or something, and his lips part and stretch into a lovely smile. Lance notices a flash of deadly sharp canines within and a chill rushes down his spine. “Oh-you’re not scared of me, then?” His tone is barely concealed excitement, giddy like a child, and his wolf responds to the tone. Its tail begins to wag and its glare softens into a puppy like sweetness, its tongue rolling out of its mouth as its jaws part into something resembling the same smile Thunder sports.

Lance is scared alright, but that fear’s got _nothing_ on his fucking _guilt._ There’s no way he can fess up now, he would crush this poor man’s dreams of friendship! Are barbarians even social creatures?! It makes sense, really, Thunder’s happiness.

 _He’s probably never had a friend before._ A little voice hisses in the back of Lance’s head, a voice that sounds a lot like his mother’s scolding tone.

 _Shut up._ He responds back.

His conscience continues, _he gets chased out from wherever he goes, everyone’s too afraid to approach and those who aren’t wish to kill him. Don’t you sympathize with him, you heartless monster?_

 _Oh maker, I’m really doing this._ Lance bemoans.

“No-nope, not scared at all, haha, your wolf just startled me, was all.” Lance quips, attempting to sound jovial and probably failing miserably.

If he is, Thunder doesn’t notice, too caught up in grinning massively at Lance. He seems to catch himself and smothers his smile, the red tint back to his cheeks and making Lance’s eye twitch, “That’s-uh-that’s cool-” Lance can tell he’s forcing his tone into something less excited and it _almost_ makes his smile, “well, where were you heading? Before, y’know….” He gestures to Kosmo who steps forward to begin sniffing around Lance.

Lance tries to discreetly move away from the wolf’s searching nose but gives up when the beast just follows him. He shrugs, “Just to the next town. I never stay in one place, really. My people are known for that.”

Thunder nods in understanding, “Coimoc, right?”

“Yeah. We’re spread all over.”

“Don’t your people usually stay in prides?”

The rogue shrugs again, a quick pain racing through his heart at the mention of _prides,_ “My pride and I...don’t really get along.”

Noting his discomfort, Thunder quickly moves on from the subject, “I was heading in that direction, too. If you wanted...maybe we could...travel together…? To the town…?”

Lance’s heart skips a beat and he isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of fear anymore.

The logical part of him is yowling with rage, _traveling with a_ barbarian _, are you INSANE?! They’ll treat you just the same!_

The empathetic and decidedly more humane side of him is far less revenant, _sure, just dump him...if you want to be prejudiced and close minded just like all the others! Are you forgetting you’re a second class citizen, too?_

Thunder is looking more and more nervous the longer Lance waits. The rogue blinks, glances down at the beautiful obsidian weapon on his hip, looks back up into those equally as stunning violet eyes, and clenches his fists.

_You’re stupid, Lance._

“Yeah, why not?”

And if Lance’s heart skips a beat at the relieved smile on Thunder’s face, he would thank you kindly if you never brought it up.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not dead, huzzah.  
> I was tired of how little Thunderpike fanfiction there is, even though it is P R I M E material, so I decided to write some of my own.  
> This fic is a lot more boring than some of my other ones. I tend to write very violent pieces and this is pretty tame in comparison, but I still enjoyed it.  
>  **HEY!** I am taking IDEAS and REQUESTS for Thunderpike oneshots to be included in this mini-series! If you have a burning idea you would just love to see written, please contact me via Tumblr and I will either give it a go or be like "nah that's stupid lmao"  
>  I also take writing commissions! I do just about anything! Please help me, I'm a broke college student who can't work!  
> Tumblr: [@ronswansoneatsmyass](https://ronswansoneatsmyass.tumblr.com/)


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